Ma Belle

It rang again. Every ten minutes. This was enough.

“I told you, I’ve had enough. Stop these stupid calls!” She hung up.

It rang back. She lifted the receiver and hung up again. It rang once more and she shut off the ringer, leaving only a flashing light to tell her it was ringing again. The bar was too busy for this tonight.

“I need to talk to Mr. Butts. Can you see if he’s there? First name Seymour,” to which she’d yelled across the bar to anyone named Seymour Butts. That was the first call. The second, for Sandy Beach, she had denied asking about.

“Is your refrigerator running? Better go catch it!”

“Do you have Prince Albert in a can? Better let him out.”

She could take no more. Her regular crowd came in from the second shift at the factory down the street. She turned the music down for them, as they watched the news together every night.

There was a big give-away tonight, they told her, and they wanted to see who won. Right after the local weather and the first commercial break, they would be announcing the winner. Belle knew nothing of the contest, but a friend informed her that locals were asked to elect the most friendly local business owner for an all-expense paid trip to the Entrepreneurs’ Convention in Vegas. That sounded great to Belle as she looked at the thermometer outside reading below zero. The bar hushed.

“We have a secondary winner tonight! We tried to call Belle from the Belle-vedere, but we couldn’t get through. Sorry, Belle! We’ll send you the travel mug. The grand prize goes to Duke at the Never Inn! Let’s hear what Duke had to say…”

Belle turned off the TV and plugged in the phone.